


Love is a Mirror

by grandfatherclock, theseasdancingotter



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Community: widojest love, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Formerly called "In Two Perspectives", Idiots in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 03:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20557454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandfatherclock/pseuds/grandfatherclock, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseasdancingotter/pseuds/theseasdancingotter
Summary: "Cayleb. How do I get a boy tolikeme?""Many alreadydo, Jester."Or: a story in two parts, by two authors, with two tenses, in two perspectives.





	Love is a Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote something with [@theseasdancingotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseasdancingotter/pseuds/theseasdancingotter)! This fic is rated Teen & Up Audiences for references to sex.
> 
> —grandfatherclock  


Jester bites her lower lip, looking to Caleb sitting beside her in their companionable silence. The moonlight coming through the curtains of the common room is soft, subtle, nearly gone against the arcane lanterns lighting up the room—but she still notices. She still sees. His red hair looks _brilliant_ in the light the moons offer, strange and cascading over the angles of his face. He looks perfectly comfortable, perfectly _peaceful_ in this quiet, lifting a hand to turn to the next page, and she can’t quite _help _herself, as she awkwardly clears her throat, giving him a hesitant smile as he looks up, eyebrows furrowed but his lips pulling into a smile as he sees her sitting on her favourite chair. “_Cayleb_,” she says, as he blinks at her, tilting his head. Jester gives him an impish little smile. “How do I get a boy to _like_ me?”

Caleb’s half-smile widens a little, even as he looks dejectedly to his book for a longing moment before closing it. His expression doesn’t look _annoyed_ as he watches her, though, it never quite _is._ He’s never dismissive of Jester, never pretends he has better things to do than talk to _her_—like _Essik_, with his fancy dunamancy Jester doesn’t quite understand, even know she tried _so _hard, and his smile was _so _smug—and he places the book to his side to give her his full attention. “Many already _do_, Jester.” His voice is soft in its lilting Zemnian, soft as he gazes at her with those pale blue eyes. They’re subtle _too_, subtle in how they reflect the light. Everything about him is subtle.

Jester leans forward in her chair, hands bunching in her pretty yellow dress as she gives him a teasing smile, hoping it hides how her heart is _thudding _right now. It feels _loud_, and even though she logically _knows_ Caleb can’t hear, a light flush spread over her face regardless. She hopes her hair messy around her face manages to hide it some, hopes that the confident grin as she wiggles her eyebrows does too. “Do _you _like me, Cayleb?” Her Nicodrani voice is high, her eyes are bright—she _knows_ this, is _practiced _in this, not quite so practiced in how she’s intimately aware of him in every room she walks into, not so practiced in how she finds herself watching his lips. She asked this _before_, asked this to _others_, and it’s become a little joke, a little tease, as if they would actually _like _her… 

His eyes glitter, and Jester finds herself being unable to avoid his gaze despite _really _wanting to. Caleb is _perceptive_, though maybe not as much as _Caduceus_—nobody is, maybe if she were a better cleric she would notice things _better_, know how to know whether boys liked her without bumbling through these _questions_, though she privately thinks Caduceus would be a better cleric if he knew how to _ask_ better—and Caleb _will see right through her if she isn’t careful_. But she isn’t being careful, she’s _never _careful, wouldn’t be a cleric to the _Traveler_ if she was. He’s _watching_ her, probably seeing the thoughts tearing through her mind that her bright smile is masking, and that’s _frightening_. Before she can make a joke to pull the conversation forward from his painful pause—_because how could he like her?_—he clears his throat. “You have already asked me this question once before.” His voice is kind.

“_Yeah_,” Jester says, tilting her face so her hair pools to one side, pushing over her shoulder. Her hair is longer now, she’s been _trying_ to grow it out, grow it _long_, grow it pretty like her mother, pretty enough to weave flowers in like the new fashion trends in Nicodranas—and _shit_, it _hurts_ to think of Nicodranas, think of the sun beating down on the back of her neck, so she _doesn’t_, simply watching the sunflowers on her nice little dress. It’s _cute_, she thinks, and wonders immediately if Caleb finds it cute _too_. He’s only ever offered compliments when she’s asked about her appearance, but he does it so _earnestly_, pointing out specifics in the material or the design that she doesn’t quite think he’s full of bullshit—and that makes her heart _flutter_. “But you didn’t _answer_, though.” Her voice is _light_, keep it _light_, Lavorre, it’s probably _nothing_—but the idea that maybe it isn’t, that maybe there’s a _meaning_, and the meaning is what she makes of it… 

Caleb shakes his head, an endeared little smirk playing on his lips as she banters. There’s a calculated weight to his movement, though, that same little way he watched her when she made that comment about the fucking stupid _blood pact_ she brought up when they were first trekking to Xhorhas. Weighing how _serious _she’s being, how much she wanted to address things _now_—he takes her seriously, it’s one thing she’s always loved about him. And _oh_, that word seizes her heart._ Love_. Fuck, she’s not smooth at _all_, she falls so _easily_—and she lets out a soft exhale of relief as she hears his voice interrupt her thoughts. “What about other boys?” His voice is deceptively light, following her own tone. _What about Fjord?_ he’s asking, without asking.

Jester wiggles her eyebrows—and _yeah_, she does _not _want to talk about Fjord right now. That’s… complicated, and difficult, and she didn’t think he wanted her back, he certainly didn’t _act_ like he did—and now _everything _is different, and he’s being _nicer_, the way he _used_ to be when it was just the two of them, and _fuck, she doesn’t want to think about this._ _Oh_, he’s _good_ at deflecting, but no one can get between Jester Lavorre and a mystery, and there’s no mystery that interests her more right now than the case of Caleb Widogast and his mysterious little _looks_. “You’re changing the _subject_, Cayleb.” Her voice is soft, though, and she wonders if he’s trying to let her down easy, wonders if this is his mercy. _Gods, _it would be so fucking _embarrassing_ if he didn’t want her _after all_—shit, what if he doesn’t _want_ her?!

There's a long pause, and Jester watches the dragging movement of his shirt following his arms as he crosses them. He leans back against the couch as he considers what to say, how to _respond_, and that’s it, exactly—he’s careful where she’s not, except sometimes he’s not careful at all, sometimes he’s so selfish it makes her want to scream, but he _sees_ it, _sees_ her anger, _sees_ everything else that’s hidden away. It’s _terrifying,_ but it’s _new_, and she can’t quite stop herself from bothering him, teasing him, _wanting him, _her mind whispers. _You want him_. “What would you say if I did?” His words are clipped, but _oh_, there’s this light flush on his face, so fucking _pretty _against his longer hair, perfect and red around his translucent skin.

That’s a perfectly neutral, perfectly _careful _statement to make, Jester thinks, as she flutters her eyes teasingly at him. He watches her movement, watches her hands tight on her dress—_of course you do_, she thinks, her voice so fucking _fond_, _of course you would_—and she sticks her tongue out at him, shifting her jaw as her eyes flitter, mulling over just _how _to call him out. Fuck the _Traveler_, this is _hard_, and what he doesn’t _want_ her? What if he’s being so kind right now, and she’s not even appreciating it, pushing him into rejecting her _outright?_ What if, what if, what if—it all makes her nervous, and it all makes her impatient, because _man, Cayleb, you can get risky over a favour with Fjord but not over meeeee?_ “But _do _you, though?” Caleb watches her, his face perfectly world-weary, and Jester giggles, because _damn_, that’s _funny_. He’s funnier than he gets credit for. “Okay, but _if _you were, what would we _do_, though?” A perfect middle ground, some kind of _balance_—or the sick imitation of it all. She doesn’t _feel_ balanced, she feels all twisted up and anxious inside.

He takes another moment—_careful_, she thinks more than a little bitterly, _you’re so fucking careful, you’re always so fucking careful with me_—and then raises a hand to rub his neck. She watches those delicate fingers, knows how they’ve cast spells that fucking _demolished_ the crew of the Squalleater and _forced_ the hill giant in the arena into unconsciousness, clever little fingers with their arcane runes that learned _dunamancy_—oh, _fuck_ Essik Theylas, she thinks, pouting at all the _alone_ time they’ve been spending together—and watches as he squares his shoulders. “Hold hands,” he says awkwardly, roughly. She wonders if he’s drawing on his experiences with _Astrid_ with the handsome nose. “Talk about… talk about our _feelings_.”

Jester can’t help but deflate a little, feel a little disappointed. Is he really going to be _this _careful? Is he really not going to take any risks with this, with them, does he not think she’s _worth _it? That insidious little voice in her head whispers that of course she’s not, she’s being frivolous and _annoying_ with her girlish crush, there are _important _things at hand—and it _helps _that Caleb doesn’t _look_ annoyed, doesn’t _look _like he thinks she’s being frivolous. It’s what her tutor would snap at her when she doodled on the sides of her lessons. It’s how she learned that word, tugging on Blude’s horns as she rode on top of his head until he told her. “But we’ve already _done_ those things, Cayleb.” _Is that all you want from me?_ Fuck, her chest kind of hurts.

“_Kiss_, maybe,” Caleb mumbles, after a moment. His voice has gotten more hesitant now, and his hands are on his lap, clenched into anxious fists. He likes having things in his hands, she’s seen him fiddle with that Transmuter’s Stone so many _times_, grinning whenever she sees the half-smile she painted on it visible to her curious, discerning eyes. She can’t quite focus on his hands now, not when he said that _word_—_kiss_. Oh shit, she’s fucking _flushing_, and all she can think of is his lips pressed against hers, is his nose brushing against her cheek as he pulls her close, pulls her _in_. “And maybe the things that… the things that come _after_.” _Oh_, he’s pink _too_, and it’s so _pretty _on him, everything _tends _to be.

Jester moves her eyebrows in unison with her hands, wiggling her fingers. “Some _huh-huh-huhhh_.” She breaks into a laugh, the sound light and breathless in the silence. His own lips quirk up, and his light amusement makes her laugh _harder_. Gods, she’s such a mess over him saying _kiss_ that the machine that modulates her humour has gone haywire—but _fuck_, sex with Caleb… her face darkens. She wonders if he’s imagining it, wonders if he can _picture _it, the two of them together like _that_. 

“I can’t _look_ at you when you do that_,_” Caleb says, and _yep_, his face is flushing harder. He looks so _fond_ though, so _amused_, and finally the carefulness has broken through, broken back into their easy back-and-forth. _Fuck_, she’s so _glad_, maybe he might actually answer the question she’s asking, and the question she’s asking without asking, the question they’ve been dancing around since _Hupperdook_, since she breathed air into his lungs after they stole a ship in Nicodranas, since those _looks_, since he told her he didn’t mind if she made jokes about his appearance, jokes about the _dirt_. Since they’ve become _friends_, since they apologized to each other after they fought over the money in Zadash. She wants to know so _badly_, and—

“Some _boning_,” she says, her voice loud and her eyes wide at _boning_, and she pushes back into her chair as she giggles, clapping her hands together and bracing them in front of her chest. His eyes are so soft as he watches her smile, his eyes trailing for a moment on her _lips_, and _oh—_

She wonders if he’ll be a little careless for her.

* * *

Caleb’s blush deepened. The conversation had been a pleasant diversion, but now? He felt his chin recede into his scarf, this was getting out of hand. 

“Maybe,” he said, his words suddenly squeaky in his own ears, “A-aways down the road.” He furiously cleared his throat. “Ja.”

Jester leaned forward in her chair and Caleb wondered if this was how birds felt staring at a cat. A very sweet and kind blue cat. He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly aware he was sweating.

_Oh Scheiße_.

“I could probably teach you a thing or two,” Jester mused, pulling him out of his reverie with a wicked grin. Caleb shook his head. His memory was eidetic and knew how her eyes squinted when they were lying. 

“I highly doubt this,” he said, careful to sound more playful than serious.

Jester pounced, practically bouncing in her chair. “Suuuuuure, because you were really_ freaky _back in magic school. Because you were really freaky and all the ladies were in love with you.” Her voice became sing-song as she giggled furiously . “_Oh CAYLEB you’re so handsome and not stinky at ALL_.” She abandoned the chair and scooted in next to him on the couch, leaning against his shoulder and pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. _“You’re weak but your Fireballs are so LARGE and STRONG._”

Caleb laughed despite himself. There was something miraculous about being this close to Jester. As if he was suddenly drunk on the warmth of her touch through his coat, her presence a sip of hot brandy on an autumn morning. “It was just so,” he agreed with a wink.

Jester swiveled to look up at him, eyes bright with excitement and in equal parts confusion. “Really?”

“No.”

She smiled, but her nose crinkled in telltale disappointment. “_Oh_.” She poked him once in arm teasingly and then leaned back against the arm of the couch. “For a second there I thought you were a real hunk or something.”

He shook his head as he took a deep breath. They were no longer touching, but the feeling of heat in his shoulder remained. It echoed the feeling growing in his chest. 

_You’re losing your head Widogast. _

He tried to change the subject. “Even if I were, my schooling didn’t allow for me to meet many people.” His inner monologue congratulated him. It was mostly true, for a lie. 

He’d always been so good at that. 

Most of the people he’d met training under Trent Ikithon were gone now. He knew because he’d personally helped kill some of them. Only the resolute could serve their country and it was better to be dead than weak. Caleb shivered.

It had been so easy back then.

He saw Jester shrink before his eyes watching him, he couldn’t tell if it was in sympathy or something else. _What would she think if she knew?_

“Just Astrid,” she said softly. 

He blinked back surprise. Her mind had gone to a similar place as his own. “Just Astrid,” Caleb confirmed. 

Jester kneaded the fabric of her dress between her hands, the glittering rings on her fingers lost in a sea of warm yellow. “Do you still love her?” she said suddenly, her kind eyes intense as they flicked up to meet his. “I won’t tell anyone if you do.” 

Time had made that a layered question. He felt the words catch in his throat, stuck behind his teeth like gauze. How do you explain loving a ghost? The Astrid he knew no longer existed, if she had ever really existed at all. And she had known him far better than the other way around. 

_He was such a fool._

He felt a sudden pressure as Jester took his hand in her own. He took stock of it, in awe of the small fingers in comparison to his long spindly digits. Cool and dimpled slightly at the freckled joints. Perfect, down to every last callus and scar. 

He looked up and she nodded at him to continue. 

“I love what I thought she was. I love, ” he stumbled over his words, suddenly feeling like he was back on the ocean again, spit out of a sinking island and in freefall. He felt Jester squeeze his hand, silently urging him to finish. He couldn’t disappoint her.

“I love what she could have been.” He gave Jester a squeeze back. “But do I love her now?” “No. I….” Even in the low light he could see himself reflected in her eyes and for once he didn’t hate everything he saw. “I-I don’t.”

“_But you love me though_?” Jester said in a tone that could have been joking if he didn’t know her better. He was getting tired of lying, even if the voice in his head knew it was safer that way. 

“Maybe.”

She closed some of the distance between the two of them. Suddenly serious again. “Maybe?”

Time slowed. He was suddenly aware of the starfield of freckles across her nose and the sharp canines that were _just _longer than the rest of her teeth, brilliant white against the flushed plum of her lips. Suddenly aware of the pulse in her wrist, as fast as his own, and smell of old sugar and lavender. 

His breath hitched as he leaned forward, looking for any sign that she didn’t want this to happen. Any sign that she wanted him to stop. 

_Nothing._

There was nothing and Caleb remembered how to breathe again. 

Emboldened he reached out his hand, fingers like paint brushes against her cheek, afraid they’d leave behind too much color if they pressed their luck. 

He drew closer and their noses tickled against each other. Caught like schoolchildren in the inches that remained, they shared a breath.

Caleb laughed, tears of joy burning at the corners of his eyes. “Maybe I’m—” he begins, but her impatient mouth was already against his, lips warm and parted. Eager. The same eagerness he felt burning in his chest, the same roiling ache that had been building since she’d been rescued from the Iron Shepherds, unbroken but sad. No one else had seen the lies in her smiling eyes, and he promised himself he’d never let her suffer like that again.

Her hands snaked into his hair and drew him deeper. He didn’t resist. How could he resist the woman that had so easily stolen what remained of his heart? He finished the words he'd started with his tongue, lost in the flavor of her and willing to tell one more half-truth. “Maybe I’m beginning to.”


End file.
